Penelope (16 page)

“Like I said, I
admire your ability to … err … throw grown men into rivers. I hope
it was mid-winter. But, my dear girl, do you want to remain a
spinster and don a cap, or do you want to get married?”

“I want to
marry,” Penelope replied, her hand clutching Madame’s arms.

“Why?”

“You know why.
For my family, to improve their situation … and mine.”

“Enough to lie
to the
ton
?”

Penelope missed
a step and lurched forward bumping into to Madame’s large
stomach.

“Can you lie to
the ton?” Madame asked again.

She sighed and
finally nodded.

“Very good. Now
I will teach you how to be the perfect wallflower. All you have to
do is nod and smile and utter not a word. I can take care of your
physical appearance and make sure that you are noticed. Can you
keep silent for one night?”

“I can,” she
replied confidently.

“Hmm, we will
see. For now let us focus on your dancing and entrance. I will come
and teach you for two hours every afternoon until the season is
over or until you trap a man, whichever comes first.”

Penelope spent
the rest of the day training to be a wallflower. She listened to
all that Madame had to say while pondering over a few strange facts
that had come to light. Madame had the longest lashes she had ever
seen, and if one looked carefully, the rest of features were also
striking. Penelope wondered why Madame, who had an excellent eye
for aesthetics, would intentionally distort her features with the
help of rouge and powder. But most of all, she wondered why Madame
needed to disguise her muscular figure by wearing a heavily padded
false stomach.

***

It was late
evening before she entered the room and had a chance to look
through the things Madame had brought for her.

She stared at
the beautifully wrapped boxes and packages tied up with ribbons and
burst into tears.

“Now now, Miss
Pea. Is this something to cry over? So many pretty things. You
should be happy,” Mary said, coming to pat Penelope on the
back.

“I am
happy.”

“You don’t look
it.”

“I don’t know
why I am crying. I never used to cry,” Penelope sniffed.

“I think you
are just tired, Miss Pea. The journey and the highwayman, all those
lessons with Madame, and on top of that you have been spending all
day tending to the dowager.”

“I suppose,”
she replied uncertainly.

“Or it could be
the ball …”

Penelope
started wailing.

Mary hurriedly
picked the shiniest box in the pile and dangled it in front of
Penelope. Penelope stopped crying.

“The boxes are
beautiful, Miss Pea,” Mary said, stroking the golden lid.

Penelope blew
her nose and picked up a package.

“You can have
that one, Mary,” she replied, untying the knots on a parcel wrapped
in yards of pink tissue.

“I couldn’t,
Miss. Don’t you start giving away your things before you had a
chance to use them. If I see you handing boxes and ribbons to the
servants, I will bring it all back.”

“But I want you
to have the box.”

“I know you
truly do, but sometimes you need to cherish things for yourself.
This is your season, Miss Pea, and it will never come again. You
should enjoy it down to your very toes.”

“I can’t wear
the boxes, Mary, and I have plenty of them.”

“I will take
the box, but only after the season is over.”

“Then you will
have to take two,” she replied smiling.

The parcel was
finally opened and Penelope pulled out a shiny beige cloth. After
much inspection, they found a note stuck to the bottom of the
tissue.

Chemise

“It’s silk,”
Mary said in awe.

“To wear in bed
… People wear silk in bed?” Penelope replied, letting the soft
material slip through her fingers.

“More chemises
in this box, Miss. Ten of them ... Whatever will you need that many
for? Peach, dusky pink, lilac, and this one has rosebuds
embroidered on the hem.”

“The pink has
French lace. Shall I try one on? Everyone is at dinner, and since I
can’t join them because of Sir Henry, we have a few hours to
ourselves.”

“I think you
should. They are awfully pretty.”

“What if I
spill something on them? How will I ever sleep in this? I am sure
it’s worth more than my nicest morning gown.”

“Oh, go on,
Miss Pea. You need to practice living like rich folk. Not that your
family is poor, but the duke must have a castle in the country with
dungeons and thousands of treasure trunks.”

“Mary, have you
been listening to those travellers again?”

“No, Miss, it
was the housekeeper. She reads aloud sometimes and I was listening
to this wonderful tale of pirates and wenches. Perhaps I should not
say any more.”

“Don’t stop
now. The book sounds fascinating. Could you sneak it up here?”

“Lor, Miss, go
on with you. I would never do such a thing. It’s not for ladies,”
Mary said primly, helping Penelope out of her dress.

“All the good
stuff is not for ladies,” Penelope grumbled, her voice muffled as
Mary pulled the chemise over her head.

She ran to the
mirror and stared at her reflection.

“It is ...,”
Penelope whispered.

“Yes,” Mary
breathed.

“Indecent.”

“Beautiful.”

“Mary, this
makes me look almost naked. The colour is the same tint as my skin.
I look …” Penelope trailed off. The silk skimmed over her curves,
moulding and flattering every part of her. Her legs looked longer
and her waist wispy. Her hair, swept to the side in a simple braid,
gleamed in the candle light. She looked fragile, delicate ... and
sensual. Her lips parted as if in invitation and her eyes grew
languid.

“Mary, how will
I know …” she asked, her eyes locked on her reflection.

“Know
what?”

“How will I
know if I am in love?” she whispered blushing.

“When you are
in love, Miss Pea, your toes will curl,” Mary replied
comfortably.

“My toes will
curl?” Penelope squeaked.

“Yes,
Miss.”

Penelope eyed
her maid in horror, “I like my toes straight, Mary. I am mighty
fond of my toes!”

Mary looked
down at Penelope holding on to her toes and collapsed in laughter.
What, she wondered, would happen to poor Miss Pea at the ball
tomorrow?

The next day
dawned bright and clear, at complete odds with Penelope’s mood.

“Miss
Fairweather, you have barely touched your eggs, and last night your
dinner tray was returned uneaten. Is everything alright?” Lady
Radclyff enquired.

The duke
scowled, burying his nose deeper into the newspaper.

“Yes, Lady
Radclyff. I mean, I am fine, thank you,” Penelope replied not very
convincingly.

“Is it the
ball?” the dowager asked.

The kindness in
the dowager’s eyes undid her. She replied honestly, “I am sorry, is
it so obvious? I am just worried. When Madame was teaching me, I
was too tired to think. Now all I can do is worry about the ball. I
am not ready yet to face the ton. I wish Madame was coming—”

“No one is
going to the ball,” the duke snapped.

“What?”
shrieked Lady Radclyff, “But why ever not?”

“Mamma has been
ill. I cannot have her surrounded by scores of people with no room
to breathe. She needs to rest. And I cannot send the two of you
unchaperoned. You will have to forget about balls until mother gets
better.”

“Nonsense, I am
perfectly fine, Charles.” The dowager sighed seeing her son’s
resolute expression. “Fine, I will not go ….”

“Mother,” Lady
Radclyff exclaimed.

“Hear me out,
Anne. I will stay home and rest if you, Charles, will escort the
girls to the ball and keep an eye on them all through the
evening.”

“But …” the
duke spluttered.

“You were
already planning to attend Lady Hartworth’s ball. This simply means
that you will have to forgo a trip to the gaming room. It’s not too
much to ask.”

“I am unwed,”
Lady Radclyff added batting her lashes at her brother. “I need to
attend to find a husband. Besides, when have you not kept watch
over me?” She added under her breath to Penelope, “He scares my
prospective grooms away.”

The duke shot
his sister an annoyed look, “Fine, I shall take the girls.”

“Wonderful, the
other thing I need you to do–”

“Mother, you
already agreed that if I escort the girls, you will stay home.”

“Yes, but that
was for tonight’s ball. I was planning to take Miss Fairweather and
Anne shopping tomorrow.”

“You are not
going anywhere.”

“I realise
that, which is why I was going to say that you take them to the
shops. Anne will be disappointed if she doesn’t get to go, and it
is your rule that doesn’t allow her to visit the shops with just
her maid in tow.”

“Charles will
never agree to take me, Mother. He never has time for his little
sister. He is too important to waste his time on such trifles,”
Lady Radclyff said pouting.

“I never said I
will not take you, Annie.”

Lady Radclyff
grinned, winking at her mother.

***

That evening
Penelope was bumping along in the duke’s excellent carriage led by
six handsome grey stallions. She was on the way to the ball. And
she was frightened yet again. Her palms were sticky with sweat. Her
left garter was pinching her thigh, and the cream corset was making
it hard for her to breath. She wanted to stick her head out of the
window and pant like an overweight French poodle. If she did, then
her intricately braided hair, piled on top of her head and secured
with jewelled combs, would unravel. Besides, she did not think the
duke or Lady Radclyff sitting opposite her would approve of such
conduct.

“You look
beautiful,” Lady Radclyff soothed.

Penelope was
not soothed.

Madame had
arrived that evening to personally attend to Penelope’s toilette.
She had worked a miracle. The cream satin dress overlaid with
delicate rose-gold gossamer net was modestly cut and it floated
about her like a dream. On her feet she wore deep pink slippers
made from a superbly soft cloth, and in the centre of her slippers
tiny ruby-like gems were clustered together to form roses. No more
embellishments were added, not even a single strand of pearls. Her
neck was left bare and ringlets framed her face. Her lashes
darkened with soot made her brown eyes sparkle, and her lips
mercilessly scrubbed with sugar looked pink and moist.

“Miss
Fairweather, remember Madame’s words and be a wallflower.
Everything will be alright,” Lady Radclyff comforted. After a
moment, she added, “I think you should breathe. You are not
breathing.”

“Yes, I am
alright. I will be a wallflower, the very best wallflower. In fact,
I will be a wall, not even a flower—”

Penelope was
cut short when the carriage jerked to a halt, sending her lurching
off the slippery leathery seat. She ended up sprawled on the
carriage floor. Any remnants of confidence that had remained in her
fled. She sat on the floor gripping the carriage seat and dug her
nails in. Lady Radclyff had to prise apart her fingers and drag her
out in the open air.

The duke
ignored her while Lady Radclyff murmured some comforting,
indistinguishable words.

Penelope made
it to the entrance after trying to bolt only twice.

 Lady
Radclyff held her arm in a vice-like grip as their names were
announced.

This was it.
They had finally entered the dreaded Lady Hartworth’s ball.

The ball was in
full swing. Earls, viscounts, counts, marquises, and various other
aristocrats, along with their better halves and their numerous sons
and daughters, thronged together in a great crowd. Turbans, peacock
feathers, boas, bosoms, silk, brocade, and wigs were mashed
together like a colourful bowl of fruit salad that had slightly
wilted due to the unbearable heat.

White painted
faces swam in front of Penelope and the dance floor was barely
visible through the mass of bodies. She was relieved. Lady Radclyff
was right. Any misstep on her part would not be noticed in such a
crowd.

Almost
immediately upon their entrance a tall, distinguished looking man
with a young couple arrived to greet the duke.

“Miss
Fairweather, my mother’s ward.” The duke turned to Penelope and
said, “And this is the Duke of Arden, Lord Hamilton and Lady
Hamilton.”

Penelope
curtsied elegantly. Something tickled at the back of her mind. She
had heard the name before, but where? It came to her all of a
sudden and she said, “I remember reading about you, your grace, in
The Reflections
. My father gets a copy every month. I am so
sorry. I heard about your sister’s unfortunate end. She was
murdered, was she not? And by—”

A sharp pinch
on her arm from Lady Radclyff had her stop abruptly.

The Duke of
Blackthorne was glaring at her. The Duke of Arden was eyeing her
with interest, while Lord and Lady Hamilton were looking a tad
scandalised.

Lady Radclyff
hurriedly muttered excuses and dragged Penelope across the room
towards a discreet corner in the ballroom. She scared off a
canoodling couple behind the grey silk curtains and took their
place.

“Miss
Fairweather,” Lady Radclyff said with forced calm, “you cannot,
absolutely cannot, discuss matters of murdered sisters, brothers,
aunts … with a duke, no less …Oh, dash it. Just stay clear of the
topic of death, birth and anything that comes between. In fact, you
were supposed to keep silent. What happened?”

“I was nervous,
I didn’t think. I am sorry. I will stay silent,” Penelope replied
shamefaced.

“Well, the Duke
of Arden is a decent fellow. He is a great friend of the family so
he will overlook this little slip on your part, but we cannot
depend on anyone else to be as kind. Promise me, Miss Fairweather,
no more babbling.”